SIMONA GRAZIA DIMA

Armura de foc

De foc ne temeam, in foc ne am pierdut neputinta.
Mereu atenti – ne intrebam la ce: la flacara,
la nava incendiara (dar ne sfiam sa spunem),
la flama care ne putea rapi oricand,
de orisiunde. Cu potirul in maini, stiam
ca putea s apara un phoenix, sa i sarim in spinare.
Arsi, sa fim cavalerii invincibili. Dintru nceput,
nu exista armura. Ca din ceata i apar vinele,
cum se schiteaza aripa de inger in fata rugatorului.
Si abia dupa incendiu incepe dogoarea amiezii,
arderea dupa ardere. Parjolul vesel, arsura fericita,
hohotul flacarii. Pe vechiul vulcan, copiii afla
anemone albastre. Strigand, ei calca pe copca
sub care clipesc, glumete, dar treze, vapaile.

Cristina Moraru

Simona Grazia Dima
 

Armour of fire

We are afraid of fire, we have lost our incapability in the fire.
Always attentive – we were wandering to what: to the flame,
to the infalammatory ship (but we were too timid to say),
to the flame that could kidnap us anytime,
from anywhere. With the chalice in our hands, we knew
that a phoenix could appear, so we could jump in his back.
Burned, to be the invincible knights. In the beginning,
there is no armour. Its veins emerge from fog,
as the angel’s wing delineates itself in front of the appellant.
And only after the fire the excessive heat begins,
The burn after burning. The merry scorch, the joyful burn,
The flame’s guffaw. On the old volcano, children find
Blue anemones. Calling, they step on the clasp
Under which the flames winkle playful, but watchful.